Category Archives: Stuff

What do I miss about the North?

Musings, Stuff, , , , ,

imagesI grew up in Kansas City, MO, home of absolutely terrible weather:  frigid winters, several feet of snow, lots of ice.  On the other hand, we had long, hot summers.  The grass turned brown in the heat by mid-June and the breeze felt as if it came from an enormous hair dryer set to scorch.  I always thought there had to be a place that had either nice summers or moderate winters.  In 1987, we moved to Savannah, GA, and found weather heaven.  Oh, the summer was terrible and humid but I loved living in a place where kids rode their bikes in shorts on Christmas day.

What do I miss about living in the South?  When I was a child walking home from imagesschoolafter a long winter of cold and snow, in March I could see the crocus pushing themselves up through the snow.  I loved those first signs of spring: daffodils and robins and the brilliance of narcissus.  The sight of a gentle cloud of light green hovering about the limbs of trees which signaled they would soon be blossoming–well, the beauty made me smile and tear up.

imagesLiving in the South, I miss spring. I miss the relief of coming to the end of snow and ice and seeing the earth wake up before me, gentle and sweet and fecund.  I miss the soft colors and the bright ones, the tulips at Churchill Down, the red buds and dogwood trees, and the magnolias.  In Savannah, the bursting color of azaleas almost made up for not seeing those lovely northern plants–almost.  And in the Hill Country of Texas, we have wild flowers in the spring, miles and miles of blue bonnets with sprinkles of Indian blanket.  Gorgeous.  But it’s only this–azaleas or wild flowers but not the variety of beauty in spring in the north.

What else do I miss about living up north?  When I was a child, my father, an unwavering imagesfan of athletics at the University of Kansas, drove us to every home football game in Lawrence.  I remember the beauty of autumn leaves back then, the reds shimmered in the sun and the hues of yellow spread from light to golden.  Never have I seen trees so beautiful and I miss them.  In Texas, people will point out what they call a pretty tree, the leaves of which have changed from green to a deep, rusty red, nearly brown.  Oh, yes, I miss the changing of leaves in the autumn.

What don’t I miss about living in the South?  Snow.

 

 

Buchanan Dam, TX

A question, Small towns, Stuff, , , , , ,

imagesI grew up in Kansas City, Missouri–yes, Missouri.  The major part of Kansas City is not in Kansas.  Kansas wasn’t a state when Kansas City was founded in what was the state of  Missouri. The town was named for the Kansas River.

But, enough of that geography lesson.  Back when I grew up, neighborhoods were friendly and people lived in their homes forever. We knew each other and helped each other.   The older I got, the less this was true.  We moved so often and seldom knew our neighbors–until we moved to Buchanan Dam, Texas, into a small subdivision with five houses.

imagesBuchanan–pronounced in Texan, BUCK-a-nan–Dam was a lovely place to live.  There was an eagles’ nest a few miles west.  We had deer who ate my tomatoes which meant I didn’t have to garden–I don’t do that well. We had wild flowers, wonderful views, cool breezes, and great Mexican food down the road, close to Fuzzy’s Corner.  images

But the best part was that we had great neighbors.   Suzanne was a nurse who looked after out health.  One night when George thought he’d had a heart attack–he hadn’t–there was Suzanne, waiting by the ambulance to see what she could do.  Down the hill were two boys who kept us in groceries with the chickens and vegetables they raised for 4-H. May and Al lived behind us and kept an eye on the place.

And then there was Bob, a handy man who watched out for all of us.  This was sometimes a problem.  Once a floor lamp broke so I put it down in the trash.  A few days later, Bob made the long trek up our driveway and knocked.  When I opened the door, he handed me the lamp which he’d repaired.  What a great guy.  The only problem was that the lamp still didn’t work. I didn’t want to put it in the trash again because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  Actually, my main worry was that Bob would fix it again, bring it back and this would become a never ending loop.  My solution was to put it in the back of my car and smuggle it into Burnet where a friend disposed of it for me.images

Do you have stories about your neighbors?  I’d love to hear them.

 

You can’t always be what you want–but that’s okay

A question, Confession, Musings, Olympics, Sports, Stuff, , , , , ,

To paraphrase a Stones’ favorite, you can’t always be what you want.  I’m sorry but the imagesidea that one can be anything one wants if one just tries hard enough is just no true or realistic.  Perhaps we need to rethink this.

I love figure skating.  I watched the nationals all last weekend.  One of the skaters said, “Everyone should figure skate,” and that reminded me why I don’t.  Why, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never, ever be a figure skaters.

imagesA friend and I took lessons when we were young, back when Kansas City still had an ice rink.  My friend did very well, being promoted week after week to higher level classes, learning to twirl and do elementary jumps.  Meanwhile, I didn’t.  I continued to slog around the ice and I couldn’t figure out why I was stuck in the beginners class.  I followed directions.  I did everything the instructor said.  I worked hard in the hope of being able to fly over the ice in a graceful position but never looked like the picture on the left.

Many years later, I discovered my problem, why I was doomed to remain forever in the beginners class:  I have terrible joints.  My ankles were so weak I couldn’t straighten them.  They bent inward which made me more of an on-your-ankles skater instead than a figure skater.  Actually, I skated both on my ankles and on the edges of the blades, lumbering along, trying so hard to do better and never succeeding.  No, never.

And this is why I know that, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be a figure skater. Not even with the best coach in the world, I won’t.

There are people who tell children, “You can be whatever you want to be if you try hard enough.”  Well, no, they can’t and it’s mean to tell anyone such a completely ridiculous and untrue statement.  No mater how hard I try, I’ll never be a figure skater unless the federation puts in a new category to fit my style of skating.  And I’ll never represent my country in any sport in an international athletic  competition.  Those of you who know me recognize the truth in those words.

Some other realities: 1) No matter how hard she tried, a woman hasn’t been able to imagesbecome president. Shirley Chisholm can attest to that.

2) Until 2008, no matter how hard a black man tried, he couldn’t be elected president either.

3)  No matter how hard I try, I will never be abble to tell the difference between the word “shutter” and “shudder” without checking the dictionary.  Nor can I tell the difference b and a  d  when I’m spelling even though all my teachers told me if I tried hard, I could do that.  I am dyslexic.  Some things are mentally impossible for me.

My point is that people do not succeed in every effort and need to know that’s not the endimagesof the world. Kids, especially, need to understand this.  I awakened to this new truth many years ago after reading a magazine article.  The thesis of the article was that a spider could not make a lemon meringue pie no matter how hard that spider tried.

I am not espousing the opposite point of view that no matter how much you try, you’re going to fail. That’s really depressing.

Could we come to a middle point?  Perhaps “If you want something, work hard because you’re not going to get it if you don’t try but you many not succeed and that’s okay.”  Long and unwieldy, I know.  Maybe you could help me phrase this in a jazzier, more interesting way.

imagesAnd maybe we can stop filling children’s heads with the thought a thin boy’s going to be a heavy-weight boxer if he tries hard enough or a girl will play center for the Louisville Cardinal’s men’s basketball team.  There are other goals, good goals.  Any thoughts on this?  I’d love to hear them.

Lines I’ll never forget

A question, Celebrating, Musings, Stuff, Writing, , , , , ,

imagesDo you have a favorite line or two from a movie?  I bet you do.  I’m going to share two of my favorites, then I’ld love for you to share yours.  One more thing: my favorites always make me laugh.  Do yours?

One of the problems with sharing these, of course, is that   1)  everyone won’t enjoy my favorites and 2) quoting lines from a movie the other person hasn’t seen usually goes to prove that “you had to be there”.  Nonetheless, I’m going to do that.

From The Blues Brothers:   Everyone loves and quotes on line, “We’re on a mission from imagesGod”, but my favorite is when Jake and Elwood are sitting in their car and Elwood–in a neutral voice–says, “It’s 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark… and we’re wearing sunglasses. ”  Describes the situation perfectly but why does that line make me laugh?  The absurdity of the situation?  The deadpan delivery?  The sunglasses?  Probably all of them but, like so much humor, you had to be there.

imagesIf you’ve read my book Taking a Chance, you know I love the movie The In-laws.  If you haven’t read Taking a Chance, I’m telling you now that I love this movie–the first one, the classic with Peter Falk and Alan Arkin.  One of the many sections that always make me laugh is when Falk, a CIA agent, describes a village in South America:   “They have tsetse flies down there the size of eagles. Really. In the evening, I would stand in front of my hut and watch in horror as these giant flies would pick children off the ground and carry them away.”  I know why that’s funny.  It’s absurd and it also created a really absurd picture in my mind.

Also from that movie, George would turn to me every now and then and say, “Serpentine.” Always made me laugh.

What are some of your favorite lines, scenes, etc., from a movie, book or television show?  Share the laughter.   images

 

 

 

 

 

Arachnophobia

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a spider.”

 

“They shot my belly out”

 

 

 

..They have tsetse flies down there the size of eagles. Really.

In the evening, I would stand in front of my hut and watch in horror as these giant flies would pick children off the ground and carry them away.

They shot my belly out.

Professor Fate: Leslie escaped?

General: With a small friar.

Professor Fate: Leslie escaped with a chicken?

tsetse flies  the size of eagles.

Lessons from a move are never learned. They just fade away . . .

Celebrating, Stuff

As I look back, here’s what I’ve learned with this move

images1)  Moving is even worse than I remembered.   I didn’t want to move. Before I made that decision,  I recalled that every move I’ve made–except those way back when I possessed so little everything  fit in the trunk of my car–has been horrible.  One of my friends said that God did everything to get me to move and that took a great deal but, fortunately, God’s will is omnipotently stronger than mine.

2)    I never give away enough when I downsize.   When George and I moved from the house at Buchanan Dam with a shed and carport, I had that planned out with a place for every piece of furniture marked with tape.   But not on this move.   I’d given so much away, I felt sure there would be plenty of room.  Somehow over the two months before I moved here, the apartment got smaller.  As the movers brought in boxes, they laughed, a lot, about how I was going to get these piles of boxes into this much smaller place.  I had to call a junk company to carry off a large piece of the computer desk so I could move from my study to my bed without having to climb over furniture.   I’ve also made several trips to the Salvation Army with the trunk of my car full of little stuff.  And all those baskets I mentioned in an earlier blog?  I hope the Salvation Army has use for about twenty of them.

3)  Friends are wonderful.  Many, many thanks to those who gave of their time and muscles and boxes to help.  I couldn’t have done without them.

Yes, I’m here and am thrilled by the new possibilities.  I feel safer with an extra level of security.  In the previous apartment, the turnover was so great, I didn’t know anyone but the noisy neighbors overhead who delighted in bothering  the old witch downstairs    Here, there are no hyperactive children or crazily macho fathers and the soundproofing is great.   The pool is larger and heated and there are people who want to get to know their neighbors.  

What I’ve learned is that moving can take me to a better place and I’m really happy about that.  What doesn’t make me so happy is that moving takes three months out of my life every time!

Any uplifting stories of moves you’d like to share?

 

My life by tote bags

A question, Church, Confession, Kansas State University, Musings, Stuff, Uncategorized, , ,

toteIn an earlier blog, I mentioned my problems with organization, how I use baskets and notebooks and colors to keep track of all my stuff and what I should be doing.   In THE MATCHMAKERS OF BUTTERNUT CREEK, Gussie uses different totes for the various sections of her life.  Yes, I took that from my life.  I had one tote for school–a very large one–another for church, and many others for volunteer activities.

Today, I mostly use my totes for shopping and realize anyone looking at them would learn a great deal about my life.   One is from an anniversary of the founding of my college sorority at Kansas State.  Whenever I carry that, I make sure my hair looks good, my shirt is clean, and my shoes don’t look too ugly.  I do that because living here in Austin, I fear a young collegiate Theta will see me and think, “I didn’t think alums looked that bad.”

I have another with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) logo on it.  This is a communion chalice on a St. Andrews Cross.  That cross is on its side and looks like the letter X which causes people to ask me if I’m a member of the temperance league.

Another tote has this written on it:  “My  hero can kick your hero’s . . .”  Well, I’ll allow you to fill that in so I won’t insult any readers.   I have totes with Romance Writers of America conference themes and one with the symbol of one of my publishers, all of which might tip people off that I’m a writer.

Many years ago, my dear mother-in-law gave me a tote with “Cats and Books” on it.  That pretty well fills in my other interests:  pets and reading.

What’s your favorite tote?  What does it tell people about you?

Why in the world did I ever keep that?

Coming up, George, Happening Now, Stuff, , , ,

imagesAs I sort and toss and pack, I wonder, “Has that always looked so bad?”   Yesterday, this thought came because of the breadbox which I’ve had for probably twenty years.    It’s dirty and just plain ugly.  Yes, I could wash it but ugly can’t be fixed.    Also, I no longer eat much bread, certainly not enough to take up a few feet of counter space.   George did.  He liked different flavors of bread.  But not me.  It’s in the back of the car to take to Goodwill in case they believe it’s salvageable.

Perhaps finding old stuff that has gradually become unsightly is a way of telling us, “Hey, you’re getting old” or nagging us, “Time to move on.”

Many years ago, we were attempting to sell our house.  We’d had the sofa for a long time and knew the fabric underneath and concealing the springs had torn and brushed against the carpet.  Probably a cat had enjoyed pulling herself along with that.   For whatever reason, the dangling cloth didn’t bother us.   It DID bother the real estate agent.  As soon as he walked in, he said, “Get rid of that sofa.”   I asked, “Won’t the room look odd without it?”  He said, “Not as bad as it does now.”

And perhaps that’s a positive outcome of a move: we can get rid of the stuff that shows wear, that reminds us time is passing but also reminds us for a few minutes of good memories.

The horror of another move

Confession, Hysteria, Stuff, , ,

http://www.dreamstime.com/-image21984494I’m one of the most disorganized people you’ll ever meet, probably due to my dyslexia.  Of course, I blame everything on my dyslexia, even allergies and bad hair days.

However, most people don’t know that I am sadly clipboardorganizationally handicapped because years ago–in high school but I’m not going to tell you how long that was–I forced organization on myself by using color codes and clips and folders of neon hues and clipboards and file cabinets and, most recently, baskets.

Second only to disipline, what I hated most about teaching school was having to organize.   I usually had at least three preparation, sometimes as many as six  which meant all those sets of worksheets.   Keeping where each separate worksheet I had for each class–well, my brain was tangled by the end of the day.  I’m surprised I made it for so long.

For years, I used totes, just like Gussie Milton in my Butternut Creek toteseries:  one for school, one for church, one or two more for different groups I belonged to.  I just grabbed one as I headed out the door.

My church friends JoAnne and Ro came over last week to help pack.  For the last ten years I’ve used plastic baskets and woven baskets to keep things straight at home.   When baskets2JoAnne entered my study, she said, “I didn’t think there was anyone in the world who had more baskets than I do.”    I must have fifty or more of all sizes and shapes.   They are color coded:  purple baskets in my Kansas State study, yellow and orange baskets in the room divider in the hall which match the shower curtain in the hall bathroom,  red and blue baskets on top of the kitchen shelves because they’re pretty,  woven brown baskets in the dining/living room, and cheap white plastic baskets in the closets.

I hasten to add, I’m not compulsive.  I’m dyslexic and have not a pilessmidgen of the neatness gene.   Such handicaps require desperate measures so I don’t end upliving beneath piles of  receipts, old manuscripts, unfolded laundry, and cat toys.

How do you organize yourself?  I’d love to learn a new way.  And, if you need some, I have lots of baskets I can give you.  Just pick them up before I move.

 

Odd things people believe

Confession, Musings, Stuff, , , ,

red houseI watch HGTV shows a lot, especially programs about people looking for a new house.   Several things people have said amaze me because I never realized people thought this way.

1)  THE BATHROOM  In a few shows, people looking through oddly flipped homes find a bathroom next to the kitchen and say with great disgust, “A bathroom next to the kitchen.  That’s horrible.”   Now, I’m not the greatest housekeeper in the world but there is nothing in my bathroom–other than the litter box which I keep very clean–that has disgusting stuff in it.  According to these people, disease emanates from a bathroom and will infect anything prepared in the kitchen, leaving venom and disease on every dish of food.   If that is so, why would having it down the hall from the kitchen make any bathroomdifference?  That miasma of infection would just drift down the hall and–bammo–right into the kitchen and the food.  Might even attack whoever is in the living room and whatever is on the dining room table first.

In another show, a woman said, “I don’t like the toilet next to the shower.” Does she not know which is which?   Did no one teach her how to use a toilet properly or how to get into the shower?

Perhaps there should be no toilets in houses because they’re obviously the source of every illness known to a family.

In addition, I’m very proud of myself.    As mentioned earlier, I’ve never considered myself to be a great housekeeper but my bathrooms are so clean I have no worries about a plague.

2.    A woman looked around the master bedroom of a house she was touring and said, “There’s no place to get dressed.  I don’t like to dress get dressedin the same place I sleep.”   What?   I’ve never lived any place where I didn’t dress where we slept unless it was in of those houses where I kept my clothes in a closet in the guest room.

Which brings me to the reason for this blog:  we aren’t all alike.  We have different outlooks and backgrounds and educations and lifestyles and . . . pretty much everythings.    Yes, there are many beliefs and feelings that united us but we’ve approached those through different paths.  Can’t we accept that people and cultures are different and start from there?  I’d never force anyone to live in a house that has a bathroom off the kitchen although I’ve known friends who’ve survived that okay.   But shouldn’t we be able to start with a fact–people like indoor plumbing–and go from there?    We can discuss topics like why people like having bathrooms and where they should be and what’s the problem with a bathroom near the kitchen without calling each other unclean or doo-doo heads.   We learn from each other.  We hear different ideas and can bounce them around in our brains and toss the conversation back and forth without infuriating each other.

The fact that we don’t all think the same is a joy of diversity. I learn from you.   I hope you learn from me and we accept and change or understand why our opinion is the right one for me but not for you.  Sadly, we don’t.  The fact that we refuse to listen to the other person is a loss to all.  The fact that instead of discussing, we call each other names must make George and Ben and John and those who faced great danger to start this nation to sob.

Congratulations, grads!

Celebrating, Kansas State University, University of Louisville,

felicitaciones2Yes, I know I’m late with this but I’m going to a party for a 2014 graduate this afternoon and began to reflect on graduation.

I don’t have good memories of my graduations.   I was one of 428 in high school and sat between two guys I’d never seen before.   I graduated from college in January and didn’t return for the June ceremony.  My friends tell me the speaker was a famous physicist and they didn’t understand a word he said after, “Congratulations.”    Nor did I attend the HUGE ceremony when I received my master’s from the  University of Louisville.  However, I promised I’d attend after I earned my M.Div. in a class of thirty.    Unfortunately, because I’d taken my classes mostly in the summer to complete the degree, no one recognized me in the pictures of the class and identified me as Hilda someone.

However, I’ve attended many more.  As a high school teacher, I always into the futurefelt graduation was a celebration of attainment, meeting the goal.    Many time, I was one of many in the audience.  In Fort Bend County, TX, I always volunteered to escort the class forward.   In other schools, attendance by faculty was required but, again, I never minded that–well, except for the times it was held on the football field and we processed in over wet soil and were attacked by flying insects as well as various pollens that had us scratching and sneezing.

But with every one of those, I felt such pride, both in the completion of all those years of study and in the awareness that young people I’d taught were going out into the world, speaking fluent Spanish, I hoped, or perhaps that they’d find a use for the language.

So to all those who graduated, from Rogene and Becky to Sam and Luke and today to Jon, congratulation and Godspeed.